


Fifty Stories

by NickelModelTales



Category: Original Work
Genre: Depression, F/M, Fetish, Hypnotism, Porn With Plot, Sexual Fantasy, Shameless Smut, Spy - Freeform, Writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:02:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22577482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NickelModelTales/pseuds/NickelModelTales
Summary: An erotic hypnosis writer struggling with depression resolves to experience sex while she is hypnotized herself.  Is this a seriously bad idea?
Comments: 5
Kudos: 22





	1. My Increeeeeeeeedibly Shitty Life

**_Dallas, March 2009_ **

I reach for another Oreo. _Think, Nicole, think…!_ I tell myself. The cursor on my laptop screen blinks at me.

After a pause, I write:

\--- --- ---

_Chardonnay stared into the whirling spirals on the television screen. “And now,” the powerful male voice said in her mind, “you will take off all your clothes, except for your bra and underwear.”_

_“I obey, master,” Chardonnay found herself saying. The voice had spoken, and she had to obey._

_With her eyes never leaving the endless spirals, Chardonnay unzipped her cocktail dress, allowing it to slip off her bare shoulders and fall down to her ankles. Behind her, she could hear the man, Nestor Tracer, sigh in contentment. The spirals held her in their thrall the entire time._

_“The Overlord Boss will be pleased that you are now my slave,” Tracer said, “And now, you will_

\--- --- ---

Ugh…!

I pause. Frown. Reread what I’ve got. Is **_this_** what I’m going for?

I reread this section yet again, and immediately hate it. Its pretty sexy… I guess… but there’s something… I dunno, boring about it. I scowl, and reach for another Oreo.

Fuck me, its Tuesday night, 3:17 AM. I have work in five hours, you guys. I have to be in the shower in three hours. I can’t call in sick again, as I’ve already used up five sick days this year. Mr. Weber will **_definitely_** fire me if I call in sick.

But I have to write. I have to! I’m like my heroine, Chardonnay. I’m compelled to do this crazy and sick shit by forces beyond my control.

I sigh, minimizing my Word doc for a moment. I reeeeeally should resist peeking at the Internet, ‘cause if I do, I’ll never write anything tonight. And if I don’t write anything, I’ll really, really feel like shit all day tomorrow. Only writing makes me happy.

But nonetheless, I click open a browser, and then go to my online story archive. Do I have any new fan mail?

I’m Nicole Marie Taylor, twenty-six, hopelessly single, overeducated, underemployed, a total wreck at life. I’ve achieved exactly nothing I set out to do since leaving college. By the time I was twenty-five, I wanted to have three novels published, and then shifted over to playwriting. Or maybe screenwriting? Either sounded cool.

But no, you guys, no novels of mine were ever published, or even completed. In my youth, I spent a **_lot_** of time writing… but goddamnit, my books just kept getting bigger and crazier and going no-where. The more I rewrote, the worse they got.

But then… one awesome night last year… I was struggling with my novel. Nothing was flowing. I couldn’t write worth shit, you guys. I was SOOO frustrated, I was almost in tears. You have no idea. My life as a writer seemed to be spectacularly pointless.

Of course, looking back now, I realize that my depression was kicking in. I am diagnosed as bipolar Type II, and unfortunately my meds rarely work very well. It completely sucks.

Anyhoo:

So there I was, starting at my shit novel, **_hating myself_** and hating the world. But rather than put my fist through the computer monitor, I paused. Smoked a little weed. Cruised online. Meditated. Realized that… I was horny.

But I didn’t reach for my vibrator. No, I suddenly had the weirdest urge. I opened a brand new, blank Word doc, and I just **_started writing_**. I didn’t care about plot, themes, characters, setting, motivations, none of that shit. I just wrote freestyle. I wrote for hours.

I came up with the batshit story about a chick named Deborah. Deborah goes to Las Vegas, gets hypnotized at a stage show, then is kidnapped and seduced by the hypnotist. There’s, like, four detailed sex scenes, because I was so fucking randy that night. I put in lots of nudity and orgasms and described the sex like I was writing straight up porn. I didn’t care.

Then, I went to my fave fanfic website, created a new account using my initials, and posted my smutty little opus. You guys, I totally thought that I would be howled out of existence by outraged readers. But after a week, I actually got some nice comments!

Writing that smut felt **_so good_**. So good! I had actually produced a finished manuscript, put it out there, and someone else in the world read it and liked it! Do you know what an awesome feeling that is?

So I wrote another hypnokink story where, once again, my heroine gets mesmerized into having sex. Then I wrote another. And then another. And another! I just kept going.

*** *** ***

Now, you guys are no doubt thinking… _What is_ **wrong** _with this chick? Why is she writing about women who are hypnotized into becoming sex slaves?_

Uhhhhh… 

…aw, man…

Look, you guys, can I confide in you, ‘cause its just us talking here?

…and keep this to yourself? You swear it?

I’ve always had this hypnosis fetish, you guys. Its sick, I know, I know, I know! It’s a part of me. Always has been.

When I was fifteen, before I knew I was bipolar and clinically depressed, I was interested in boys. **_Really_** into boys. (… _blush here_ …) But I wasn’t getting any sex.

Then, that year, a stage hypnotist came to our school’s Spring Festival. I was sitting in the audience, but I got hypnotized by accident. They brought me up on stage, and soon I was making a complete fool of myself before all my peers.

While I was hypnotized to compete in a twerking contest, I remember thinking, _I have to do what the hypnoguy tells me to._ I literally couldn’t stop myself. I had no control over my body or mind.

And – perhaps because the hypnotist was really, really cute – I suddenly realized: I was sexually aroused, you guys!

Yeah, I was! As I carried out the hypnotic instructions that were put in my head, my pussy was getting superwet. I spent the whole show fantasizing about the hypnotist taking me back to some luxury apartment. He’d order me to get naked, and lie on his bed with my legs opened wide. I’d say ‘ _Yes, master_ ,’ and then he’d…

Ahem.

Well, you guys get the idea.

Ever since then, hypnosis has made me horny. (I know, I know! I’m a sick girl, I know it! This confession is a cry for help.) God help me, ever since that night, I can’t help feeling turned on whenever I encounter hypnotism, in any form.

For fuck’s sake, last month, I caught an old Dracula movie on late night cable. Dracula – played by some English dude in a horrible wig – cornered a skinny brunette chick in a Victorian dress. “ _Look into my eyes_ ,” Drac told her… and I was so hot just then. I had to masturbate.

*** *** ***

So posting erotic hypnosis stories has become my drug. In under a year, I’ve posted forty-eight stories. Forty-eight, you guys!

Some of those stories are really **_out there_**. I’ve written a couple of series. Chardonnay West, for example, is my badass superspy. I made her a muscled blonde who always wears slinky dresses and drives fast cars. She’s so cool. Chardonnay has saved the world from terrorists, Nazis, zombies, a brainwashing cult, and aliens. In every story, poor Char gets hypnotized and has to fuck the villain, but she still prevails. I really love her.

For my upcoming fiftieth story, I was hoping to do something special. Something to wow my handful of readers. But I have to wrap up the current Chardonnay adventure in Story #49 first.

…and damnit, but nothing’s coming out of the creative spigot. Try as I might, I just can’t write anything worth a damn, you guys. Even Chardonnay can’t save me.

Goddamnit.

Goddamnit! Goddamn, Goddamn, **_GodDAMN!!!_**

I have no new fan mail. I look over my writer’s page, where all of my forty-eight posted stories stare back at me.

 _Why can’t you get to Story #49?_ they call out to me. _What is wrong with you? A **real** writer would make it to fifty._

I sigh, and reach for another Oreo. Its 3:53 AM.

*** *** ***

“ ** _Nicole Marie!_** ” Mr. Weber bellows.

I jump. I’m at my desk, at work. The phone is ringing.

“Answer the fucking phone!” my boss hollers, exasperated.

Oh, Jesus, did I doze off? **_Fuck!_**

I scoop up the receiver, and breathlessly say, “Dallas Star Taxi, this is Nicole Marie, may I help you?”

“ _Yeah, yeah, I need a ride to the airport,_ ” the lady on the other end says. She sounds grumpy.

I take down her info, determine that… ah, Carlos is her nearest driver, and complete the dispatch. Then I hang up, trying not to look in Mr. Weber’s direction.

Across from me, Fran the Frumpy Bitch throws me an accusing stare. “You better get your shit together, Nicole,” she mutters. “Weber is tired of your ass.”

*** *** ***

On my smoke break, my mood collapses. I’m so depressed. My life is shit, utter shit. Goddamnit. How did I come to this? I hate myself.

I had to get out of our office. Now I’m on the sidewalk, lighting my second Salem Light. Blair Park is just across the street. The skies overhead are clear blue.

I work at Dallas Star Taxi full-time, plus wait tables at The Silver Dollar diner in the evenings. I kinda hate doing the two jobs thing, but what choice do I have? If only I could quit both gigs and crank out my first novel… … _sigh_ …

As I smoke, two sleek twentysomething guys are jogging along the park’s outer path. They slow, then stop at the bike racks, both huffing mightily. I can see the sweat gleaming on their lean bodies. Mmm. Lookin’ good, gentlemen. You have such nice, tight butts.

Why can’t I get guys like that?

I sigh. _Because I’m a manic crazywoman,_ I remind myself. _I’m a financial disaster, out of shape, struggling to hold down two loser jobs._ Girls like me don’t get to snog boys like that.

But…

An idea occurs to me.

What if I concentrated on improving just one aspect of my life? What if I turned over just one new leaf?

What if I got in shape? Not just descent shape, but in **_crazy buff shape_** , with killer abs and iron-like thighs? Like Chardonnay West. Hmm.

I like this idea.

I mean, I’m not in shape, but I’m not fat either. I’m plenty curvy, that’s for sure. But I could be exercising more.

I exhale smoke, picturing me after a month or two of serious working out. _I trot up to the bike rack, my iPod in my left hand. I’ve just finished my daily six mile run, and while I could do another three miles, eh, I think I’ve earned a break. My hair is tightly pulled back, revealing the sleek, space age spandex running outfit that graces my catlike frame. I’m all muscle._

_The two runner boys stare at me – and my tight butt – as I begin my afterstretches. I’m wonderfully flexible, able to touch my forehead to my knee._

_“Hey there,” the cute boy in the scruffy beard says to me. “I’m Josh, this is Danny. You, uh, you want to get a coffee? I see you here all the time, and you must be insanely fit.”_

_“Sure, Josh,” I say easily. “Whaddya say we race for it?”_

The more I enhance this picture, the more hopeful I feel. Yes! Yes, I can do this! Get crazy fit! Go running in the park, then pick up boys like I’m picking up donuts at the store! Once I get in shape, I’ll feel better about my body, better about my life, I’ll have more energy, my creative writing juices will be unleashed! Yes!

Why didn’t I think of this earlier?

*** *** ***

“So, do you know what kind of treadmill you’d prefer?” Brenda the salesgirl asks me.

I’m in Lee’s Sports and Athletic Equipment, over on South Lamar. After mulling it over, I’ve decided to invest in exercise equipment for my apartment. I could buy running shoes, but I live, like, a mile from the park, and its not safe for a young woman to run in my neighborhood. Besides, if I exercise at home, I’ll save time. I’m certain that every day, I’ll run after work, then immediately have the energy for writing. Perfect.

Brenda smiles at me. She’s very pretty and superthin, almost a stick figure. She certainly works out.

“Uh, what machine do you use?” I ask.

“Me?” Brenda smiles again. “Oh, the CardioTrac 2600. No question. We have a floor model, over here.”

She directs me to a modest-sized treadmill, black, with shining sides and a futuristic control panel.

“Its really simple to use,” Brenda says, ushering me onto the machine. “See? It starts by taking your weight. You punch in what kind of workout you want… Fatbuster, say… and then it recommends your distance, resistance, and speed.”

She taps a few buttons. The CardioTrac 2600 blinks, then displays: WELCOME YOUR WORKOUT WILL BE 22:38 PRESS START TO BEGIN.

Brenda slips me a confident grin. “I lost twenty pounds on my first CardioTrac. Couldn’t live without it.”

*** *** ***

Now I’m in the sales office. Brenda is on the other side of the desk, typing away the computer.

“Now, let’s see,” she says merrily. “The treadmill is $795, plus tax. Did you want the warrantee?”

I hesitate. Ulp. $795? Eight hundred bucks? That seems like… a lot.

“The warrantee is only fifty a year,” Brenda tells me. “It means, if the Trac breaks down for any reason at all – any – Lee’s will come and repair it. No questions asked.” She confides, “Its worth it. I needed two repairs on my first Trac. And if you don’t have the warrantee, you can wait weeks before your trac gets fixed. Lee’s guarantees next-day service. So worth it.”

I nod dumbly. “Okay,” I say. I can’t have a broken CardioTrac for multiple weeks, can I?

“…plus warrantee,” Brenda mumbles as she types. “Okay. Do you need delivery?”

Oh. “Um, yeah.”

“Assembly and installation?”

Shit. “Yeah.”

“How about our tuning service? Its only twenty dollars a year.”

Why not. “Yeah.”

“Great!” chirps Brenda, entering the last numbers. “Okay. Plus tax, that’ll be… $1,035.38. Cash or credit?”

I hear a loud record scratch inside my brain. **_A thousand bucks???_**

I recall the vision of me as the skinny, athletic Nicole Marie, confidently picking up hot boys at the park. **_That_** Nicole is about to publish her first novel.

I swallow. “Credit,” I tell Brenda. Then I open my purse.

*** *** ***

The delivery man from Lee’s stares at my tiny studio apartment in dismay. “Where…” he gasps, “where are we putting your treadmill?”

“Oh,” I say, now realizing the problem. “Um…”

Okay, you guys, my studio apartment is… er, a little messy. I have this complex laundry system, where clean laundry goes in the closet… not necessarily folded, but in the closet. Slightly-worn clothes, like that sweatshirt or those jeans – I only wore them for a few hours – are, uh, tossed on the floor, **_mostly_** around the closet. Mostly. And stinky clothes that I can’t possibly rewear, like socks or undies? Those go in the hamper. Or on the hamper pile, if I can’t find the hamper.

So my apartment is kinda carpeted by my wardrobe, along with a few pizza boxes… paperback romances… entertainment magazines… junk mail I haven’t thrown out yet… editions of the Dallas City Paper… notebooks… some cardboard boxes… um, and other stuff. There’s also that half-assembled Ikea desk and organizer, which I swear I’ll finish putting together. Someday.

 _Okay, Nicole, focus,_ I tell myself. _Time to problem-solve._

So I clear a spot on my floor by furiously kicking the laundry and boxes away from the closet door. “How about here?” I propose to the delivery guy.

“But you won’t be able to close that closet door no more,” the delivery guy points out. “That CardioTrac is a big machine. And it shouldn’t really be up against the wall.”

“…” I reply. “Er, it’ll be fine.”

The dude shrugs, then goes back down to his truck.

*** *** ***

I stare at my new treadmill, and I swear, you guys, the thing stares **_back_**. It looks so much bigger than I remember it did in the store.

Well… uh… time to start building the new me…

I change into running clothes. Then I gingerly step onto the machine, fumble my way through the controls, then press START. The track underneath me starts rolling, and I’m caught off guard.

Omigod, this thing is relentless! Its like its trying to throw me out my window! I grab the handlebar thingees and hold on.

The machine is rocking slightly, and pounding against the wall. Its also scraping my hardwood floors. Aw, shit.

Oh, no! My pile of laundry just spilled onto the track! Fuck, will it be sucked into the machine’s innards?

My lungs start screaming. My knees are shaking, and I think I’m about to throw up. I’m gasping like a fish on land. Shit, shit, shit! This is **_fucking_** hard!

How much time have I been… **_1:37???_** I’ve only been running for **_one minute and thirty-seven seconds?_** Are you kidding me?!?

Before I can think, my hand slaps the big, red STOP button. The CardioTrac sighs to a halt.

I’m wheezing. My sides hurt.

Okay, okay, I exercised. It wasn’t the glorious, rejuvenating experience I pictured… but I still did it, right?

Right?

Thankful I haven’t puked my guts out, I flop down onto my beanbag chair. I reach for a cigarette.

Maybe now that I’ve worked out, I should try writing?

*** *** ***

_Nestor Tracer gleefully patted the nude back of Chardonnay, who was still entranced and in his bed._

_“And now, Agent West,” the black market technology dealer commanded, “I will snap my fingers, and you will awaken with an irresistible urge to suck my-“_

_Suddenly, Chardonnay’s eyes flew open. She rolled over and, in a flash, karate-chopped Tracer in the head. The villain fell off the bed, his eyes wide._

_“How… how did you resist the hypnosis?” he cried, frightened._

_“My ninja mental training!” Chardonnay replied. “It took a little time, but my sensei’s training finally kicked in.”_

_The superagent stood, and put on her slinky cocktail dress. “Now,” she demanded, “where is the Overlord Boss?”_

\--- --- ---

…okay, okay…

This is working pretty well… I think… I like that Chardonnay’s ninja training saves her from becoming Tracer’s slave. That’s cool.

But for the last three stories, Chardonnay’s been chasing the “Overlord Boss,” who is kinda my ultimate supervillain, the mysterious fiend who controls all the other bad guys. My readers have been very patient, but they want to see Char confront and kick the ass of Overlord. So now, you guys, all I gotta do is have Tracer tell Char where the Overlord is hiding…

Hmm.

\--- --- ---

_“Tell me where the Overlord is!” Chardonnay cried, holding her fist to Tracer’s nose._

_“Okay, okay!” Tracer said, frightened. “The Overlord is in…_

\--- --- ---

Aw, fuck. **_Where_** would the Overlord be hiding? Underground fortress? Naw, too cartoony. Uh, jungle fortress? Artic fortress? Fortress on the moon?

No.

Fuck.

Where’re the Oreos?

I don’t want to do a fortress, you guys. Chardonnay’s already snuck into three other fortresses. I need something new.

Ugh.

What if… Hmm… What if the Overlord is hiding out in Europe? Like, he’s hypnotized a bunch of European earls and duchesses and barons, or something, and now is using them to hide from the rest of the world? Oooo, I like this idea. This way, the Overlord can be controlling a lot of people, all the while living in a palace the whole time. Cool.

I grab an Oreo…

Okay, so if the Overlord is secluded in the lap of luxury, how does Chardonnay get to him?

Oh! Perfect idea, you guys! My fingers spring to the keyboard:

\--- --- ---

_“The Overlord is in Austria!” Tracer cried. “He is controlling the King and Queen of Austria! And he’ll be attending the Charity Ball for International Orphans at the Swiss Embassy tomorrow night!”_

_Chardonnay smiled. “Thank you, slime. That’s all I needed to know.”_

_She put the cuffs on Tracer, then used her earing radio to signal for the robot plane to pick her up._

\--- --- ---

There! Nice. Now I’ve set it up so that Chardonnay has to infiltrate this high society party to get to him. Chardonnay loves wearing cocktail dresses. I’ll never put my girl in a bikini or slutty outfit, but I think she’s awesome wearing skintight gowns that make her glamorous and sexy.

Pleased with my creative genius, I select another Oreo.

But as I unscrew the cookie and lick the sugary frosting, it occurs to me that **_now_** I have to write a whole big thing where Chardonnay goes to Austria, sneaks into this fancy party, and confronts the Overlord. That’ll be **_at least_** twenty more pages.

Fuck.

I’m tired… and, oh jeez, I can feel my depression setting in. Goddamnit.

Aw, whadda I do, you guys? My readers are waiting.

I physically force myself to place my fingers on the keyboard. _Come on, Nicole,_ I coax myself. _Just write something. Write something!_

It takes five minutes, and the best I can come up with is:

\--- --- ---

_“Overlord, here I come,” Chardonnay promised. “Now, you’ll get yours.”_

_TO BE CONTINUED…_

\--- --- ---

There. That’s an ending. Sort of.

Before I can doubt myself, I log into my story account, copy/paste what I have, and then click POST.

The **_Number of Works_** statistic changes from 48 to 49, and I feel a flash of satisfaction.

But now, I’ve gotta come up with something incredible for the next story. Its my **_fiftieth_** story, right? And Chardonnay **_must_** capture the Overlord Boss. Nothing short of literary brilliance is demanded here.

And just like that, my mood blackens. I stare at my laptop screen, aghast. Depression sets in.

*** *** ***


	2. Writing Hypnosmut Pays Off

I’m on the phone with my mother. This always risks an ulcer.

“ ** _You need_ HOW _much?_** ” Mom explodes. Jesus, she sounds angrier than usual.

I cringe. “…five hundred?” I fib.

Actually, I need about two grand. But if I risk asking for that much, she’ll have a conniption. I just can’t handle that right now.

“ _Nicole Marie, I swear…_ ” growls my mom. She’s slurring her words a little; that means she’s been drinking again. Not a good sign.

“Please, Mom, pleeeease?” I beg.

“ _How you blow through so much money, I’ll never know,_ ” she rants. “ _You’re taking your meds, right? You know how Dr. Chapel said your… condition… leads to bad, impulsive decisions._ ”

Oh, great. Here comes another lecture.

“I’m fine, Mom,” I promise, squeezing my eyes shut in frustration. “Listen, can we just-“

“ _You’ll have to ask your father for money_ ,” Mom cuts me off. “ _If you can find him. I had a bad week at the track._ ”

“You’re gambling again?” I ask, dreading the answer.

Now Mom sounds stung. “ _Never you mind!_ ” she snaps.

*** *** ***

Okay, its Saturday. Dallas Star Taxi has given me the day off, and I’m not scheduled to wait tables, neither. I have all day to write, if I want.

I can do this!I crunch an Oreo, then type:

\--- --- ---

_The Swiss Embassy was a very fancy castle, high up on a snow-covered mountain. Chardonnay looked at it with interest, then handed her faked ID badge to the waiting guard._

_The guard scanned the badge, checked his nearby computer, then nodded. “You can go up to the party, Princess Esiugsid,” he said._

_Chardonnay nodded and smiled to herself. Princess Esiugsid was one of her top-secret cover disguises._

_She was wearing a bright red evening gown, one that was made for her and was so tight, it showed off how sexy she was. She also had a matching purse and heels. The purse held her gun, but in a top-secret way so no metal detector could ever see it._

_Chardonnay walked past all the guards, ignoring their stares. She got on the elevator lift that would take her up to the embassy. Somewhere up there, she was sure, the Overlord Boss was waiting._

\--- --- ---

I pause. Reread what I’ve got so far. Hmm, not bad. I like the scene where Char bamboozles the guards. This story has promise.

After another celebratory Oreo, I return my fingers to the keyboard. _Go!_ I think to myself.

\--- --- ---

_Somewhere up there, she was sure, the Overlord Boss was waiting. …_

\--- --- ---

Uuuuuuuuuuugh.

I stare at the screen, feeling my emotions wilt. Doubts begin to nibble at me. What if this story sucks?

I mean… c’mon… how many people out there on the Internet really want to know if stupid ‘ol Agent Chardonnay West ever finds and stops the Overlord Boss? We all know what’s going to happen: Chardonnay will confront the Overlord, he will hypnotize her, and they’ll wind up boning each other. After some amazing, mind-blowing sex, Chardonnay will break out of the hypnosis. She’ll have a fight scene with Overlord – probably in the nude – and then the only suspense will be if Overlord goes to jail or dies in battle.

I mean, who fucking cares?

I stare at my screen, suddenly feeling nothing but shame and despair. Intellectually, I know that my depression is kicking in and I should probably take my meds… But somehow, that seems futile and stupid now.

You gotta understand: When you’re bipolar II and the sadness comes… its like a switch goes off in your brain, and all you feel is overpowering depression. This is not a case of the blues or just feelin’ bummed. No. All your emotions completely shut down except for misery. The misery hits you like a train at full throttle. You instantly crumble. And nothing – **_NOTHING_** – can cheer you up.

 _Why did I ever think I could be a writer?_ All I write is meaningless, meaningless shit! The twenty-some subscribers I have are probably just giving my stories “Likes” because they think this is all so hideously bad and they are laughing at me. **_I suck! I totally suck!_** I can’t even write a stupid smut story worth shit!

I tried, and I couldn't even crank out **fifty shitty little stories.** I'm beyond pathetic...!

Tears are rolling down my cheeks now. I now totally hate everything about me. Angry, I close the Word doc, and then go to my online story archive. I click “My Account.” Go to “Preferences.” Find the “Delete My Account” link.

I click it, and the “ _Are You Sure? All your 49 works will be permanently deleted_ ” window opens.

 ** _Yes!_** my depressed brain screams. **_Delete all the horrible hypnosmut, Nicole, and end this stupid fantasy that you can create anything! DO IT NOW!!!_**

I move the cursor to DELETE. But I don’t click.

In the back of my head, I know… I’m in the depths of depression. And I’m about to make an impulsive, self-destructive decision. A decision like buying the stupid CardioTrac 2600. It seems like a great idea now… but I’ll regret it later.

What would Dr. Chapel say? I hesitate, considering. She’d say: Do nothing. Go for a walk. Give your feelings space to sort themselves out.

And don’t delete the hypnosmut. At least, not right now.

After a long, shaky exhale, I click CANCEL. Then I shut the computer down.

*** *** ***

I don’t want to get all mopey on you guys, but living with bipolar II **_sucks_** like you wouldn’t believe. I can get sad or anxious with no warning, and when that happens, I just want to escape from the world forever. I can’t be with anyone. No-one would want to be with me. I become the most worthless human being. Even my own mother doesn’t want to be with me.

There have been some horrible experiences. And, yes, suicide attempts. Just three, and all in high school. But I always feel like I’m one emotional crash away from doing it again.

…

Let’s talk about something else?

*** *** ***

Now I’m on North Waverly St, just past Wong’s Grocery. The weather’s actually not too bad today. I’m just wandering, letting my thoughts tumble about, trying not to bump into the happy people. I grabbed my jacket and keys, but forgot my cigarettes. Damnit.

I turn a corner, and find myself looking across Fifth at that Starbucks next to the horrendous mural. Hey, there’s a small crowd of people waiting to get in. Huh?

No, those people are not waiting to get in. They’re watching something unfold **_outside_** the café.

Curiously gets the better of me. So I wander over. The semicircle of perhaps twenty people are watching someone in silence. A man. I can hear the man’s voice:

“In just a moment, I will snap my fingers. When I do, you will awaken, remembering nothing! But when I touch your forehead, you are certain you are a professional weightlifter, about to compete for the Championship Trophy! Ready?”

My heart jumps. Those are hypnotic instructions! **_This guy is a hypnotist!_**

Now I **_have_** to see this show. I elbow my way into the little crowd.

Inside the circle are two people. The first is a young woman, perhaps my age. She’s incredibly skinny, and for that, I hate her immediately. Skinny Girl has short, brown hair, jean jacket over Gap Jeans, a tee shirt, and canvas shoes with sequins on them. She’s pretty, although I note with bitchy satisfaction that she still has freckles across her cheeks. Heh. She’s standing perfectly still, her eyes closed, her head bowed forward.

The other person is a man, the hypnotist. My my my… he’s **_cute_** , you guys. Very cute. And very young. Maybe twenty years old? Little button nose, touch of baby fat, thick hair, chocolate brown eyes, nice cheeks, perfect lips. I really like his lips. He’s thin, but not too thin. You can tell he hits the gym, but doesn’t mind a few extra pounds. He fills out his slacks nicely, and I note that he wears designer sneakers. A style guy. But his plain black button-down shirt could use an upgrade.

The hottie hypnotist mugs at the crowd, then snaps his fingers before Freckle Woman. She opens her eyes, looking lost for a moment.

Ohhhhhhhhhh God. She’s hypnotized, and she doesn’t know it! **_She’s really hypnotized!_** Suddenly, I’m getting wet. I wonder if Freckle Woman’s turned on, too?

Hypnoman smiles like a car salesman. “How do you feel, Becky?” he asks his subject.

Becky considers. I study her carefully. She was told that she’d remember nothing. Does she realize what’s happened to her?

More importantly… is it likely she’ll ever have sex with the guy? Or- Oh. Oh, God. My mind is so in the gutter. I need to get laid.

“Fine,” Becky says. “I feel fine. In fact…”

The hypnotist reaches out, tapping her on the forehead, once.

Right away, Becky’s body language changes. She bristles, flexing her broom-skinny arms and glaring at the audience. She thinks she’s a weightlifter. We giggle and chuckle in appreciation. Becky’s friends, off to the side, guffaw mightily.

“What’s up, Becky?” Cute Hypnotist asks innocently.

“Where’re the judges?” snarls Becky, her voice now gruff. “’Cause I got two tickets to the gun show, **_right here_**.” She then kisses both her biceps.

Now the audience erupts in delighted laughter. Applause. Hypnotist grins and bows. Becky shows off her killer physique.

I’m suddenly so aroused, so **_fucking_** aroused. Who is this guy? Does he have a girlfriend?

Over to the side, propped up against a wireframe chair, is a sign:

**_TOBY WILLIAMSON_ **

**_HYPNOTIST AND MASTER OF THE MIND_ **

**_AVAILABLE FOR YOUR NEXT VENUE – DAZZLE AND MESMERIZE YOUR FRIENDS!_ **

He’s for hire? Ohhh, I feel weak in the knees. I wonder if he’d accept a CardioTrac 2600 as payment?

*** *** ***

I watch all of Toby’s show. When he’s done with Becky, he releases her, and takes a final bow. I applaud like mad. Its like I’m a groupie at the Toby Rock Concert, or something.

I then force myself to approach the hypnotist. My heart is pounding like crazy, and I’m kicking myself for leaving the apartment without putting on my makeup, lipstick, eyeliner, full hairdo, low-cut party dress and matching high heels. I’m sure I look a frumpy mess.

“I… I… I really liked your show,” I blurt out when I finally meet Toby face-to-face.

“Aw, thank you,” he grins. I nearly swoon as he shakes my hand. “Thanks for watching.”

“Sure,” I blush.

_Hypnotize me, make me your brainwashed slave, then when I can’t resist your power, fuck me raw? Turn me into your horny slut and then-_

“Well…” Toby says awkwardly, “see you around?”

“Yeah,” I quip.

Some writer I am. I was always terrible with dialog.

*** *** ***

I don’t even bother with Chardonnay West that evening. I spend hours cyberstalking Toby Williamson, Master Hypnotist.

Hmm. Looks like he’s done only two shows, according to his press releases. One at a high school, one at… the Rancho Vexo club? I don’t know that club. He’s got a website up, but there’s only a few publicity pics of him, nothing from one of his actual shows. (Oh, is he **_cuuuuuuuuuute!_** ) I download all of his photos, save them on my computer, then keep looking.

There’s a gazillion Toby Williamson’s on MySpace and Facebook and Twitter and Google Plus. I finally find Hypnotist Toby’s Facebook page, and then… after some squirming… send him a friend request. (“ _Hi, I saw your show, your so talented, LOL, would like to see your show again, ok bye!_ ”)

That’s about it.

I chew a thumbnail, thinking furiously. I can feel my emotions growing sadder; that means my depression is returning. Oh, God. In my sorrow, I’m likely to make a questionable decision. Possibly a **_very_** questionable decision. But…

Goddamnit.

Struggling against my sinking emotions, I click back to Toby’s website. I find the “Contact Me!” section, fill in my personal info, and then write this:

_Hello Mr. Williamson, I am a private individual who is very interested in learning more about your hypnotism. Can we meet one-on-one to discuss? I am sure I can satisfy your fee. Sincerely, --Nicole_

After a moment’s hesitation, I click SEND.

There. I’ve reached out. Let’s see what happens.

Strangely, my depression vanishes. I’m grateful. I now let my mind wander, imagining… _Toby casting his hypnotic powers over me… I’m stripping off my clothes against my will, because he commanded it… I’m whimpering in his bed, as he sucks on my breasts… I feel an_ **explosive** _orgasm when he snaps his fingers… Ohhh…!_

I can’t help it. I slip my hand into my underwear, and start fingering myself. My Toby fantasy grows more vivid. I close my eyes, lean back, and enjoy everything.

*** *** ***

It’s now the following Monday, you guys. I’m at Dallas Star Taxi, listening to a bossy male customer complain about the rudeness of his driver. This is always the worst. Legally, I have to wait until the customer terminates this call, I can’t hustle him off the phone. But this guy is just yammering on and on, repeating himself. I’m just saying, “Uh-huh… Uh-huh… I see… Uh-huh…”

Goddamnit. Annoyed, I pull up Gmail on my computer, careful to keep saying, “Uh-huh… Okay…”

Hey! There’s an email! From Toby!

I click it. He writes:

_Dear Nicole, A meeting sounds great. I’m sure we can design a hypnosis show that meets your venue’s needs and at your budget. Perhaps we could meet at Tandolini’s tonight, 7:30 PM? -- Toby_

I almost gush with delight.

Oh, wait. Fuck. I have to wait tables at Silver Dollar tonight. …crud.

Aw, screw it. I can call in sick to the diner. After all, I’m about to meet the dream hypnotist who will entrance me and take me into his bed and then aaaAAA ** _AAA_** AAAaaahhh…!!!

Quickly, I write back:

_Thank you Toby, yes Tandolini’s sounds wonderful, cant wait LOL –Nicole_

“ _Good,_ ” my customer on the phone says. “ _So you will refund my entire trip, yes?_ ”

I freeze. Did I just agree to give this guy his money back? Shit.

*** *** ***

At five o’clock, I race home at top speed. I shower, making sure to use the expensive soap. I shave my legs, and for once, take my time. Then I spray a lot of perfume into the bathroom air and walk through the sweet-smelling cloud completely naked. My mom calls that an old whore’s trick.

Well, it **_works_**. Just sayin’.

Next, I squeeze into my gutsucking undies. I select my skimpiest, black lace pushup bra, the one that holds up my cleavage. Now a quick mirror check… Eh, pretty good. I am one curvy girl. My boobs really pop up when I have them in proper support. I wish my ass wasn’t so squishy, though. Maybe I shouldn’t eat so many Oreos.

Dilemma, you guys: Stockings, or bare legs? My legs are not the sleekest, so stockings might be the way to go. But stockings might make logistics difficult, if there could be sex tonight… Er, I quickly push that thought out of my head.

Yet I opt to leave the stockings behind.

Then I squeeze myself into my red party dress, the one with the low, low, looooooow neckline. So now my cleavage is deep and about a foot across; NASA can probably see it from space. Perfect.

I fuss over my hair, probably taking too much time. I like to do my hair after I put on the dress, I’m just weird that way. Now there’s barely ten minutes to apply the perfect makeup job!

*** *** ***

Tandolini’s is one of those big Italian restaurants where there are, like, three dining rooms for no reason. It’s the place where your parents like to go, but really has no personality to speak of. The food here is always overcooked.

But Toby probably picked Tandolini’s because its an appropriate place for a business meeting, not a date. Well, I’ll work with what I’ve got.

I arrive at the restaurant fifteen minutes late, horrified that the object of my dreams… er, I mean Toby might have already left.

Nope, there he is, waiting semi-patently in the lounge. He’s in a makeshift suit with a bright red tie. His hair is neatly combed, with gel. Jesus, he’s young. He looks like he’s waiting for his mommy to pick him up from the junior high dance. So cute, you guys. I’m hot for him just a little more.

Collecting myself, I walk up to Toby very coolly. I pray that I don’t topple from my high heels as I sway my hips.

“Mr. Williamson?” I say formerly, then extend a hand.

Toby’s eyes pop when he sees my dress. He actually looks at my chest for a sec. Good.

“You’re… Nicole?” he asks, bewildered.

“I am,” I reply crisply. “Shall we sit at the bar?”

*** *** ***

I lead Toby to Tandolini’s bar, which is thankfully dimly lit and underpopulated. I claim the last two stools at the very end, as far away as possible from everyone else in the restaurant.

Toby hops on the stool next to mine, and we do that awkward “ _I want to directly face you, but what do we do our knees?_ ” thing. Eventually, we get the mechanical logistics worked out.

My heart is pounding. **_What the fuck am I doing?_** I’m dolled up like a slutty call girl, throwing myself at a cute hypnotist. Correction: I’m throwing myself at a cute hypnotist, tits first.

Suddenly, I feel like **_such_** an idiot. Why did I think I could pull this off? Oh, God.

My emotions tremble, and with horror, I realize that I’m on the verge of slipping into sadness. No! Jesus Christ, not now! I clench one fist, determined that – for once – I won’t let my depression wreck my life yet again.

Toby is watching me carefully. He’s got a polite smile, but I can see that he’s weirded out by my sexy girl approach. He fidgets.

Fuck. Time to switch tactics.

“So I really enjoyed your show,” I say easily. “You are a master hypnotist, very skillful.”

“Why, thank you,” Toby replies guardedly. His eyes wander over my chest, just for a second. “Eh… **_which_** show of mine did you see?”

I blink. “You know,” I coax him. “The one before the Starbucks.”

“The Starbucks…” the hypnotist murmurs. Then he snaps his fingers. “Oh! Oh, right. With that girl, what was her name…?”

“Becky the Pro Bodybuilder,” I remind him.

“Yeah,” grins Toby. “She was great.” He studies me again. “You were there?”

Oh, shit. He doesn’t recognize me. Well, that can be a good thing, I guess.

“I was passing by,” I say loftily.

Toby opens his mouth to say something, but then the bartender appears. I order a gin martini, two olives. Chardonnay West’s preferred drink. Toby opts for a Diet Coke.

“So…” Toby says in a formal tone, “…can you tell me about this hypnosis show you’d like me to perform for you?”

 _I want you to put me in the deepest possible trance, then command me to pleasure you within an inch of your life_ , I immediately think.

Suppressing my smutty impulses, I decide to play coy. “I have something in mind,” I say vaguely.

Toby eyes my martini, my cleavage-bearing dress, my make-up, my body language. “Do you **_actually_** have a show for me?” he asks carefully.

Crap. He’s on to me, and challenging me point-blank. What do I do, you guys?

“Uh…” I hem, then quickly sip the martini.

Toby waits patiently.

I’ve got nothing. Crap in a hat!

“I don’t actually have a show… er, right now,” I confess.

The ends of Toby’s mouth turn down slightly.

“But my company asked me to find an entertainer for our Christmas party!” I blurt out quickly.

Christmas? This is March! What am I saying?

I feel a pang of depression. I’m about to lose him, you guys… Oh, God.

“Look,” I say smoothly, “let’s just say that I represent a show in your future. But can you tell me more about yourself?”

Whew. That sounded **_somewhat_** plausible.

Toby considers my words, then shrugs a little. “Well,” he fumbles, “I’m, ah, I’m twenty-one, just graduated from A&M, settling down in the region.” He picks up a swizzle stick from the bar and absently twirls it between his fingers.

“You majored in psychology? For hypnotism?”

“No, no,” Toby corrects me. “Double major, Mathematics and Business Administration. My parents’ choice. But I learned hypnotism on the side.”

As I watch and listen, I think I detect… something. There’s something about Toby’s demeanor that I can’t place. Oh, he’s checking me out, that much is **_BLATENTLY_** obvious. But there’s something else. He’s hiding something. Hmm.

“You learned hypnotism on the side… Interesting,” I say. And I mean it. “Tell me more.”

“Uh…” says Toby, twirling the swizzle. “Honestly, I’ve always had an interest in hypnosis. I was the guy in college who never had time for dating. I was always too busy learning something. So I learned hypnosis. And I’ve done two professional shows,” he adds quickly.

And then, he flicks another glance at my cleavage. Just a quick peek. Then his eyes quickly dart down to his shoes.

“So… you’re just starting out in the stage hypnosis field,” I prod.

“I did a lot of volunteer shows in college,” Toby insists, perhaps a little too quickly. He twists the swizzle stick.

I realize: He’s **_nervous!_** What he’s nervous about, I not sure, but… eh, it doesn’t matter. Knowing he has the jitters makes me feel confident. My mood begins to pick up. The depression evaporates.

Okay, I need to move this conversation along. Get him talking. Flirt a little.

“Tell me something,” I say, tossing in a playful laugh. “I’m curious: What’s it like to hypnotize a person? I’ve always wondered.”

Toby smiles a little, and relaxes. “Its so cool,” he admits. “At first, it’s the hardest thing in the world. But then, one day, you’re working on a volunteer, and… **_BAM!_** You just suddenly get what is happening inside their head. And its an amazing feeling.”

“I’ll bet,” I say, with honesty.

Before I can stop myself, I open my big fat mouth and blurt out, “I bet you hypnotize your girlfriends in the bedroom, huh?”

**_Gak!_ **

Omigod, I am **_such an idiot_**. I want to crawl under my barstool and then claw my way through the floorboards. How could I say that???

Outside, I plaster a wide smile across my face, as if just said something completely acceptable and rational and in no way perverted, oh no. Inside, I am screaming in shame.

But then… to my amazement… Toby’s face goes white. “No!” he protests. “No, never! Why would you ever say that? No way!”

I hesitate. The hypnotist doth protest too much, methinks.

Suddenly, **_its like a thunderbolt hits me_** , you guys! I can see through this man as clearly as I can look through glass.

“You… have a hypnosis fetish…!” I exclaim in a soft voice.

Toby almost drops his soda. He stares at me with wide, horrified eyes. The swizzle stick tumbles to the floor.

I’m sure of myself now, you guys. Maybe its from writing forty-nine stories, but sometimes I can just see a character or a real human being, and truly understand their internal motivations. Its like my own personal Spidey sense. And I look at Toby now and I see it so easily.

It all makes sense now. Toby was goaded into a nerdy double major like math and business administration by his overbearing parents. He didn’t date in college, not because he was “too busy,” but because he was terrified of women. He keeps scoping me out, so clearly, he likes girls. He learned hypnosis because he wants to mesmerize the ladies.

“You have a hypnosis fetish,” I repeat quietly, delighted by this unexpected insight.

“You can’t say that,” Toby tells me defensively, leaping to his feet. “I’ll sue!”

Oh, shit. He misunderstands me.

“Dude, dude,” I say hastily, and I grab his forearm. “Don’t fly off the handle.”

I set my drink on the bar, then stand close to him. Very close to him. Making sure my breasts are touching his arm, I look into his chocolate eyes and whisper in my deepest, sexiest voice:

“…I have that fetish, too.”

*** *** ***


	3. Baron Tryan Diamond

Well, Toby doesn’t run away screaming, you guys. That’s encouraging.

The cute hypnotist studies my face, not sure how to react.

“I do,” I tell him earnestly. “I’ve got a hypnosis fetish.”

Toby’s lips part, just a little.

“Let’s get out of here?” he asks.

*** *** ***

After a little awkward discussion, I agree to go back to his place. (Yes!) A part of me wonders if this isn’t the **_worst idea_** since… well, my conception. But a much, much huger part of me is too delirious to care.

In just a few minutes, **_I might be hypnotized and having sex, you guys!_** Oh! My! God!

*** *** ***

It turns out that Toby rents a one bedroom two floors above Tandolini’s. No wonder he wanted to meet there.

As we ride up the elevator together in silence, I don’t know how to act. I’m feeling kinda giddy. Should I cuddle up next to him? Meekly follow him, as a slave girl would? Should I try to strike up a conversation about the Dallas Cowboys? What?

Toby seems just as on-edge as I do. God, he’s cute! I know I said that earlier, but… **_damn, you guys!_** I let my appreciative eyes flow over his suit, imagining his nude body thrusting against mine. I hope he has a good-sized cock. If he doesn’t, I hope he hypnotizes me to **_think_** he has a good-sized cock.

*** *** ***

Toby’s apartment is barely furnished; just a crappy couch, an old TV on a plastic milk crate, and some boxes. His bedroom has a twin mattress and box spring, with a few rumbled bedsheets lying on top. His walls are completely bare. I also see that his kitchenette seems to be stocked only with Ramen Noodles and Captain Crunch.

“I’m still moving in,” Toby says sheepishly. “Most of my stuff won’t arrive for another week.”

“Huh,” I say noncommittally. Toby seems embarrassed. I’m just relieved that we didn’t go back to my dump of an apartment.

“So,” I say brightly, “how do you want to hypnotize me?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Toby says, standing a good three feet away from me. “I… I still gotta wrap my brain around this.”

My smile melts. Wait… is he not hot for me?

Sadness and worry start to creep back into my feelings.

“You… You actually want to be hypnotized? For sex?” Toby asks, looking incredulous.

I might as well be straight with him. “Uh… yeah.”

The hypnotist stares at me. “Are you a nympho, or something?”

Offended, I balk, “No!”

“Are you getting psychological help?”

“Yes,” I admit. He’s got me flustered now. “I mean, not presently. None of your fucking business, dude!”

“I…” Toby mutters, putting up both his hands. “I’m sorry, Nicole. This is just too weird for me.”

Oh my God, you guys. Somehow the planets aligned, I’ve met a guy with a cute butt **_and_** irresistible hypnotic powers and I’m here wearing the sexiest thing I own… and now he’s rejecting me?

No! No, no, no, no!

“Dude,” I say, growing desperate. “I’m not shitting you. This… this hypnosis thing is my jam.” My voice lowers. “Its all I want.”

Toby folds his arms. He’s tempted, but… Still not on board.

Inspiration hits me. “You got a laptop?” I ask.

*** *** ***

Working quickly, I websurf to my story archive, log into my account, then pull up the list of my works. Toby and I are now sitting on opposite ends of his couch. I slide the laptop over to him.

The cute hypnotist squints at the screen. “Wow,” he says, impressed. “All these are yours? Forty-nine stories?”

“Yeah, forty-nine,” I reply.

Toby’s eyebrows raise. He scrolls through my list.

Suddenly… I feel so exposed. I’ve never shown my stories to a living human being, you guys, not in person. No-one I know – not my so-called friends, not my co-workers, **_certainly_** not my parents – have any idea that I write hypnoerotica. Oh, Jesus. Its one thing to write this smut and post it online… its another thing to watch your megacrush inspect your all horny impulses, written up in story form.

Toby eventually clicks on a story. I crane my neck, then wince. He’s picked “The Technoslave Gambit.” Oh, God. That’s the one where Chardonnay goes up against the evil technology company, only to get entranced by their HypnoRay television screens. I think she receives anal in that one. (I was experimenting.)

Oh sweet Christ! What if…?!?

Now I want to cringe, then die. Or die, then cringe. Whichever brings death faster.

Toby skims the whole story without comment, then clicks BACK to return to the main screen. “Wow,” he says.

I’m so humiliated, I can’t speak. This is not how I foresaw the evening going.

“Jesus, forty-nine stories,” Toby murmurs, scrolling again. “Hey, you have a new one started…”

Without asking, he clicks my latest opus, saved in the “Drafts” section. Because I only have three paragraphs done, he doesn’t need much time to read it.

“You’re really serious about this stuff,” he remarks, jumping back to the story list once more. “And… in all of your stories, the female character gets hypnotized?”

“Yeah,” I admit, staring at my shoes.

“And then she’s forced to have sex?”

“Yeah.”

Toby rubs his chin, then clicks my latest, finished work. He skims it without saying a word.

I just sit there, mortified. **_Why_** did I show him my stories?

“Okay, okay, now I believe you,” the hypnotist laughs, closing the laptop. “You’ve got a hypnofetish.”

I slowly look up, making eye contact with him.

“So, how does it end?” he asks me gently.

Huh?

“How does what end?” I ask stupidly.

“Your latest story,” Toby prods. “You left it at ‘ _TO BE CONTINUED…_ ’ Readers hate that.”

“Oh,” I say. “Well… I dunno. I guess…”

“You’re so hot,” Toby says suddenly.

All thoughts come to a screeching halt in my brain. **_WHAT_** did he just say?

Toby rises from the couch, moving to stand directly before me. His body language is somehow predatory. He stares at my body, and his expression is now smug and… aroused. Then his chocolate gaze rises up to bore into mine.

“ ** _Look into my eyes, Nicole_** ,” he commands me.

*** *** ***

Physically, I know I’m sitting on Toby’s couch, my hands in my lap, my eyes closed. But… It’s the weirdest thing, you guys. Toby’s voice flows over me, and its like I have no control over anything. Somehow, he’s turned my entire body into quivering Jell-O. Like, I can’t move a single muscle, because everything feels warm and relaxed and soooooo goooooooood… Mmm…

Toby started speaking to me, what was it… five minutes ago? Two minutes? A year? I’ve got no clue. Suddenly, I was struggling to keep my eyes open. I couldn’t resist him. He commanded my eyelids to close, and all on their own, they shut. I was completely removed from that decision. Now I couldn’t open my eyes if I wanted to.

Ohhhhhhhhhhhh… So nice. Toby is telling me that in my mind, I am walking down a staircase, relaxing a thousand times deeper with every step. Its incredible and yet totally ordinary at the same time. I can see the staircase. He directs me, and my feet descend all on their own.

Am I being hypnotized? I… think so. Maybe not. I do feel relaxed, though.

Now Toby is telling me that I will follow and obey his commands, and that sounds just great. I want to follow and obey. And not because this is my idea of the ultimate date, because I just… I dunno, I just **_want_** to. Toby is my master. I am his slave. Why wouldn’t I want to follow and obey his commands?

*** *** ***

More endless time drifts by. I’m aware that Toby had woken me up, had me do some silly things, then put me back to sleep. This has happened, like, many times. Everything’s a blur. I’m so out of it, I couldn’t care less.

And now, Toby my Master is saying, _“…and in a moment, I will count to three. When I do and snap my fingers, you will awaken, remembering nothing. You will open you eyes and immediately accept your new reality._ ”

…huh? Was I supposed to be paying attention, or something?

“ _One…_ ” Toby’s voice says within my mind. “ _Two…_ ”

*** *** ***

Toby is snapping his fingers. The heck?

I clear the cobwebs from my mind. Oh. I must have dozed off.

“So, how do you feel?” he asks me. Toby is now sitting directly next to me. Our knees are touching.

How do I feel? “Relaxed,” I say truthfully. “Really, really relaxed.” I pause. “So, can you hypnotize me now?”

“In a bit,” promises my dream boy. “First, I want to see something.” He touches my knee.

My mind goes blank, and I press my body into his. “I’m under your spell,” I hear myself murmur. Then I kiss him.

 ** _Wow_** , is Toby a good kisser. Just… Wow. Its like his lips have their own special energy and now I’m under the spell of their magic. He slips me a little tongue, and I melt against him a little more.

And then… His mouth withdraws. Contact between us is broken.

My head clears. Panic and humiliation overwhelm me! I jump back.

“ ** _Oh my God, did I just kiss you?_** ” I wail, terrified that I’ve jumped the gun. “I didn’t-“

“Its okay,” Toby assured me. Strangely, he looks like he’s enjoying himself. “You were saying?”

I was saying? What was I saying? I calm down. I think back.

“I… I… I just feel really relaxed,” I confess. “Like, I was at the spa, or something.”

“Do you regularly go to the spa?”

“Oh, no,” I say. “I can’t afford it. But one day, if I publish my novel, maybe-“

I feel his fingers on my knee.

I have to press myself against him. “I’m under your spell,” I whisper, before kissing him again. This time, **_my_** tongue goes into **_his_** mouth.

We smooch for, like, a minute. I’m in Heaven.

When the kiss breaks, however, I’m once again mortified. I ask, “Did I-“

Hand on knee.

I throw myself at Toby, telling him, “I’m under your spell,” before I French him **_again_**.

Now we snog, without air, for something like **_three minutes_**. I can’t stop kissing him. I don’t mean I really enjoy it and I just keep going. No, I mean, I **_literally cannot will my body to stop kissing this boy_**. My lips and body are not mine to command.

I’m so fucking horny.

Toby ends the kiss, but holds me firmly in his arms. I stare into his eyes, confused.

“ ** _Sleep,_** ” he commands.

My eyes sag shut, and I remember nothing more.

*** *** ***

I hear Toby’s voice, from both far away and deep inside my own mind at the same time. How is this happening? I’m not sure. I feel like I should understand, but… eh, I just don’t want to.

Toby is giving me instructions, so many instructions. I listen, a little worried that I might not remember them all. But you know what? I just feel sooooooooooooooooooooo relaxed right now, that… Mmm…

Sometimes Toby asks me questions, and I hear my own voice responding. That’s so weird.

Wait, he’s talking to me about waking up…

*** *** ***

I open my eyes.

My thoughts, momentarily jumbled, get organized. I have to…

I know.

_I’m Special Agent Chardonnay West. I get off the fine leather couch upon which I was sitting and briefly inspect myself. Ah, yes. I’m wearing an exclusive Paris Design evening gown, satin red, complete with an exposed back and a long slit up one leg in case I have to tango. Plus matching heels._

_My body is lean and trim, but packed with muscles. I’m a martial arts expert, you know. I could kill you with one swift karate chop to the back of your neck. I won’t, but just be warned… my skills are lethal._

_I toss back my blonde hair, then narrow my eyes. I’m in a private room within the Austrian embassy, here in Switzerland. The Austrians are hosting a charity event for international orphans. But somewhere, somewhere on these glitzy premises… the Overlord Boss awaits._

_Well, tonight’s the night that that fiend cashes in his chips._

*** *** ***

_Taking care to maintain my cover as the Princess Esiugsid, I glide through the Embassy. The charity event is taking place in the Grand Ballroom, and now I carefully move into this gigantic chamber. Here, attractive men and women in formalwear swirl about the tiled dancefloor. A live string quartet is playing sensual dances. Waiters with trays of champagne flit about. Above, suspended in a great dome above us, is a massive chandler. French crystal, I believe._

_This is quite the party, but I have to keep focused. The Overlord Boss, our intelligence suggests, is watching this very event. He is too dangerous to-_

_“Excuse me,_ fräulein _?”_

_A rich, commanding baritone momentarily disrupts my thoughts. I turn._

_Standing behind me is a man, a tall and handsome man in a tuxedo. Excellent taste. He is, hmm, perhaps thirty years old, with a lean body, straight back, jet-black hair, and a pencil-thin moustache. His chocolate eyes smile at me, and I am careful to smile back. The man extends one hand, and I note his diamond cufflinks and professional manicure._

_“Ah,” the man murmurs. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. I am Diamond, Baron Tryan Diamond, Austrian citizen and-“_

_“You are being modest,_ Herr baron _,” I reply. “Everyone in European society knows the name of Diamond. You are the world’s leading humanitarian and philanthropist.” I move to shake his hand. “I admire your work.”_

_“Ah, you are too kind,” the charming aristocrat demurs._

_“Not at all,” I assure him. “I am Princess Esiugsid.”_

_“_ Ja _, I know,” Diamond purrs. “And I would be honored if you would grace me with this next dance, your highness.” He bows deeply, then extends his hand._

_I pause, thinking. My mission here doesn’t allow for distractions. Yet, Diamond might be a lead to the Overlord Boss. Talking him up might prove useful._

_Smiling, I accept his hand. He propels me out onto the dance floor._

_Just at that moment, the lights dim and the string quartet switches to a slower, more romantic waltz. I allow Diamond to lead me. He smells nice._

_“Tell me, Princess,” the baron says. “How is it that you are you here for this event?”_

_I tense. Does he see through my cover? Have I been compromised?”_

_“My country is very concerned about international orphans,” I reply smoothly. “I must represent us at this event.”_

_“Ah, of course,” Diamond replies. “But there is something you have forgotten, I think.”_

_“Oh?” I ask._

_“Your country was not invited to this party,” says Diamond. His gaze upon me darkens._

_An alarm goes off in my mind! I_ **have** _been compromised!_

_“Do not worry, Agent Chardonnay West,” says Diamond airily, still holding me close. “Soon, you will not have a care in the world.”_

_Too late, I see the trap. “_ **You’re** _the Overlord Boss,” I realize._

_“Yesss…” my nemesis hisses. “And soon, Agent West, you will be my grateful slave.”_

_“I don’t think so,” I growl back._

_“Oh, but you are already in my power,” Diamond gloats. “For, you see, I am wearing my latest invention: HypnoEyes! Tiny contact lenses, with special subliminal projectors, designed to penetrate your mind and reduce you to an obedient wench, completely devoted to my carnal pleasure.”_

_“You diseased maniac,” I retort. “I’ll never-“_

_“Look into my eyes, slave,” demands the Overlord Boss._

_To my horror, I find that I can’t tear my gaze away from his. There’s this strange light in his pupils, and I have to stare into them. My feet turn into lead._

_“No…!” I whisper, hopelessly commanding my legs to carry me away from here. “…must… resist…!”_

_“You cannot resist me, Agent West,” Baron Diamond taunts. His eyes grow larger, and I feel my own will draining. “Look deeper, and fall under my spell…!”_

_“…no…” I murmur. But my mind is already submitting._

_“Very good,” whispers the supervillain, staring at me with a laser-like intensity. “Now, let us establish some key facts. I am your Master.”_

_And, just like that, my thoughts blank out. “You are my Master…” I echo robotically._

_“You are my slave!”_

_“I am your slave…”_

_“You will obey my every command!”_

_“I will obey your every command…”_

_“Very good,” smirks Diamond. “Now, my slave, you will follow me…”_

_*** *** ***_

_Under a spell, I obediently follow my master as he leads me from the Grand Ballroom. I must ignore the staring men who must be curious about my blank face and glazed eyes. But no-one moves to stop us._

_Dr. Diamond moves down a corridor, then into a small bedroom. I follow, and cannot object as he firmly shuts the door behind me, sealing the two of us away in privacy._

_“Give me all your weapons and devices,” he demands._

_“Yes, master,” I promise. Then I freely hand over my gun, grenade earrings, grappling line watch, bracelet that doubles as a throwing star, and both of my high heels, which are secret jet-shoes._

_“Excellent,” my master grins, setting my weaponry aside. He stretches out on the bed. “Now, slave… dance for me!”_

_My mind goes blank. Suddenly, my hips and arms are swaying. I begin to sway about the room, happy to be in my bare feet._

_“No, no,” scowls Dr. Diamond. “Make it sexy! Take off all your clothes… slowly.”_

_“Yes, master,” I breathe, then alter my dancing._

_Now I move like a seductive cobra. I slither about, careful to pop my hips and shoulders, to shake my chest, and slide my hands over my booty. I notice that my master stares greedily when I caress my own behind, so I make sure to bend over before him. As I do this, I unzip my dress._

_As a secret agent, I am trained in a multitude of martial arts. I know so many lethal ways of moving my body, I am actually classified as a deadly weapon in over forty countries. Now, with my master’s commands firmly lodged in my thoughts, I put all that muscle training to work as I strip out of my dress for him. His eyes never leave my figure._

_Once the evening gown is cast aside, I up the sexiness of my dance. I move with bigger movements, making sure to waggle my tail and shoulders even more. Because my dress is backless, I am not wearing a bra. I note with satisfaction that my master is admiring my exposed breasts. I take my time wriggling out of my panties._

_My master is breathless as he sees me completely in the nude. “Come here,” he commands me._

_I must obey him._

_Diamond scoots over on the mattress. “Up here,” he says. “Get on all fours. Face away from me.”_

_I must obey him._

_Soon I am kneeling, as my master runs his hands over my buttocks. One groping finger slides to my tailbone, then to my anus. I gasp as he presses his fingertip forward, then penetrates me._

_“Yessss…” I hear my master rumble from behind me._

_I feel his finger explore inside me, and I can’t help but squirm. For some reason, I can’t move my hands or legs, so I must remain here and allow my master to probe me. But I can’t-_

_“When I snap my fingers,” Master tells me, “this will feel incredibly pleasured.”_

_His fingers click, once._

_Now I gasp again as my anus suddenly feels like a second vagina. Ohhhhhhh, how incredible! I can’t describe it. Its like… Its like an angel is touching my special spot. Its driving me wiiiiiiiiild!_

_I start breathing harder, panting as I feel my own arousal build. I lean on his finger, driving it deeper into me._

_“Cum now!” orders Master, with another finger snap._

_Before I can wonder what that means, my first vagina, my_ **real** _vagina opens up in an awe-imposing blossom. Its as if Diamond pushed a button within my mind, activating my sex organ. My hips tremble as I feel the pleasure rush into my loins._

 _Oh! There’s hot liquid running down my legs!_ **I really am cumming!**

 _Oh my God, this is_ **HEAVENLY!** _This man, my master, completely controls me and my body, and all I feel is pleasure, rapt, erotic pleasure! I feel grateful tears stream down my cheeks as my vagina intensifies its delight._

_I may be a secret agent, with the fate of the free world resting on my shoulders… but right now, I don’t care. All I want is to pleasure and be pleasured. I’m so happy that I’ve been hypnotized._

_Without warning, my master’s finger is yanked out of me (damn!) and suddenly I feel him grab my hips. I am shoved forward as he snarls, “Face me!”_

_I scramble to obey. I must obey him._

_“Lie back,” Diamond demands. “Play with yourself.”_

_My mind blank, I do as he commands. As I enjoy my own fingers, my master hops off the bed, quickly strips naked, then climbs back aboard._

_“Now get on your knees,” he demands._

_Although I am close to an orgasm, I scurry to comply. Now I am facing my master, the both of us kneeling. I gaze into his eyes, and instantly, I am mesmerized._

_“When I snap my fingers,” he pants, “you have to suck my cock. You will suck until tell you to stop. Then you will lie on your back, and spread your legs.”_

_“Yes, Master,” I pant back._

_He snaps his fingers before my eyes. I forget everything as my head dives down toward his…_ **perfectly** _shaped cock! Oh, its purple and swollen and stiff and leathery and_ **beautiful _!_** _I love it so._

_On their own, my lips and tongue attack that penis. As a professional spy, I’ve rarely demeaned myself by performing oral sex on men. I think its degrading to women, if you must know. But, unfortunately, I have been captured on previous missions, and villains have brainwashed me into sucking them off. So I know what to do._

_I’m always surprised at the taste and texture of a cock. Salty, with slightly bumpy skin. An erect cock is an appendage with no bones, so when you have one in your mouth, you can kind of tell that your sucking on an organic balloon; there’s firmness, but no real permanent shape._

_I lather on the spit, then roll my head back and forth, careful to embrace Master’s penis only with the tips of my lips. I can feel him grow even stiffer, and I can taste the little drabble of semen, right on his tip. Soon…_

_“Oh, fuck!” gasps my master. “Stop! Too intense! Lie down!”_

_I must obey him. Although I’m reluctant to release my new favorite toy, I recline on my back. I point my legs in opposite directions, enjoying the feel of cold air on my wet pussy._

_Master wipes the drool from his mouth, then mounts me. He doesn’t take his time to get on top of me, align his tip with my clit, and then gently shove. No. He swoops down on me in one motion, and by some miracle of physics, he plunges deep into me on the first go._

_I squeal, unable to resist the wave of ecstasy now rocking my body. Oh, I know this man is controlling my mind, forcing me to like this, but also using his powers to make these erotic feelings so much more intense._

_As he fucks me, deeply, at top speed, my thoughts come undone. I can’t resist the hypnosis, nor do I want to. When I cum – which will be soon – my brain will explode, and I’ll be drifting forever in a vast universe of nothing but sexual bliss. I fucking love being hypnotized. Hypnotize me and fuck me every fucking day of the week!_ **I want you to!**

_My master grunts, then cries out. He’s cumming._

_I feel his cock detonate deep within me, and its too much. My own orgasm roars to life, and I’m like a daisy trying to withstand a tidal wave. My limbs blast off my body, my toes and fingers alight, and I literally can’t think… for, like… ever…_

_Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh…!_

_I_ **fucking love** _getting hypnotized, you guys._

*** *** ***


	4. A Pinprick of Light

I hear a police siren. Far away, yet… no, close. Down in the street. I blink my eyes open.

The cops race by, and soon all is quiet again. But now I’m awake.

I collect my thoughts. Its dark, very dark. After sundown. I’m lying in Toby’s bed, snuggled up against his warm body. We’re both naked. He’s asleep, breathing softly. The bedsheets are a rumpled, sweaty mess. I can smell sex on the both of us.

What time is it?

I peer about the little bedroom, finally spotting a tiny digital alarm clock on the floor: 1:28 AM.

Fuck me!

And just like that…

The crazy evening floods back into my memory. With a start, I remember tons: getting hypnotized, doing Toby’s crazy stage hypnosis skits, being compelled to kiss him, believing that I was…

Holy shit! I was Chardonnay West!

Grinning from ear to ear, I lean into Toby, replaying every memory. I can’t believe it, you guys! I **_totally_** thought I was Chardonnay West, on a mission and enslaved by the Overlord Boss! Do you have **_any idea_** what that is like for a writer? To enter the world you created, and experience it from the eyes of your character?!?

!!!

I’m blown away.

Toby shifts next to me, and I realize that he’s waking up.

“Hey,” I say softly when he opens his eyes and smiles at me.

“Yo,” is his response. But he’s wearing a lopsided grin.

I have to give him a deep, deep French kiss. I have to. Its not because he hypnotized me to do it; I’m just so grateful to him in this moment.

When the kiss breaks, Toby lies back. “So, you liked that?” he asks me.

“ ** _Are you fucking kidding me?_** ” I explode in joy. “That was…” Words fail me. “That was the **_BEST FUCKING EXPERIENCE of my life!_** ”

My hypnotist looks weirded out. “Whoa, there, girl…”

“No, dude, you don’t get it!” I say, playfully slapping him on the arm. “That was… Omigod, that was **_SO HUGE_**. I can’t believe it.”

I lean into Toby, replaying the whole fantasy in my mind. “Un-fucking-believable…” I murmur. “How’d you come up with all that shit? HypnoEyes contact lenses…? That was brilliant. And that the Overlord Boss was hiding in plain sight as Baron Diamond…?”

Toby stares at me. “You don’t remember, do you?” he asks.

“What?”

The hypnotist snaps twice before my eyes. “ ** _Remember_** **_EVERYTHING_** ,” he commands me.

A second set of memories appears within my mind. I break out into a smile as I think back…

_I am sleeping in a deep trance… Toby hovers over me, saying, “And now, when I snap my fingers, you will describe your perfect Chardonnay West fantasy. You will be able to give me every detail, no matter how small. Your creative energies are now unrestrained. Go!” He snaps his fingers over me._

_And then, although I am still deeply hypnotized, I start talking. Babbling out loud, really. I describe the Austrian Embassy scene, right down to the dress Chardonnay would be wearing and the exact appearance of Baron Diamond. I also talk about the HypnoEyes lens, laying out exactly how they work and how they would affect my superspy. No detail is too small to omit._

“See?” Toby says, yawning and stretching. “You came up with all that shit – all of it. I just followed your lead.”

“To tell the truth,” he adds, “while we were role-playing your story, I really didn’t do much at all. Just kinda stood there and spoke my lines.”

“Spoke your lines?” I echo, amazed. “What, did I write a script?”

The hypnotist shrugs. “Not on paper. But you would feed me my dialog as we went along. I only spoke my own words at the very end, when… you know…”

My mind is blown. “I… can’t remember giving you lines,” I confess. “I totally thought you were speaking for yourself.”

“That’s because you are an exceptional hypnotic subject, Nicole,” Toby tells me. “You go extremely deep, and you have an **_exceptional_** imagination. Extremely powerful.” He looks disgruntled. “I wish I had your creativity.”

“Oh, no,” I assure him. “C’mon, dude, the only creative thing I’ve ever done in my life is write my sucky little hypnosmut stories.”

“Uh-uh,” disagrees Toby. “A lot of really imaginative people don’t realize how deep their creative waters run. You may have struggled with writing in the past, but I don’t think that’s for lack of talent. Look at the story you pulled out of your ass tonight! I didn’t give you much prodding.”

I’m so stunned, my mouth forgets English. I can’t respond.

“Why don’t you use self-hypnosis for your writing?” Toby asks nonchalantly. “You’re leaving untapped potential if you don’t.”

“I… I don’t know self-hypnosis,” I reply.

Toby gives me a knowing look. “Oh, we can fix that,” he says. “ ** _SLEEP!_** ” And he snaps his fingers.

*** *** ***

I am floating in a deep trance. My body feels… dissolved… and all I can concentrate on is Toby’s words.

“ _From now on, Nicole,_ ” he tells me, “ _you will find that whenever you are writing and having a difficult time, it will be the easiest thing in the world to pause, close your eyes, and concentrate. When you do this, your mind will clear. The thoughts will flow. Your powers of writing will double, and then double again, and then your creative energies will be unleashed. You will always have this power._ ”

_That sounds awesome, I absently think to myself._

“ _And now… awaken!_ ” says Toby, snapping his fingers.

*** *** ***

I blink. I’m back in the bed, lying next to Toby.

“There,” the young hypnotist says, matter-of-factly, then leans back to stare at the ceiling.

I open my mouth, close it, then open it again. “Will… will that shit actually work?” is the most intelligent thing I can think of to say.

“Of course it’ll work,” Toby says, annoyed. “All hypnosis is self-hypnosis, you’ve heard that, right? Well, from now on, you’ll be able to hypnotize yourself for writing.” He grunts. “Wish that could work on me.”

Oh my God. I think I’m in love with this man.

Giggling a little, I snuggle against him. “What’re your favorite baby names?” I coo.

Toby gives me an alarmed look.

*** *** ***

All good things must end, alas. Because its Monday… no, now its **_TUESDAY_** , you guys, I realize I have to slink back home. I have work tomorrow, goddamnit. Mr. Weber will fire me if I call in sick again.

Luckily, my apartment is just thirty minutes away by cab. And I have my emergency twenty. (I don’t dare call for a cab at Dallas Star Taxi, because our drivers gossip, and everyone in the office will know I was doing the Walk of Shame.) I book a car, then hurriedly pull on my clothes.

“Hey,” I say hopefully, “can we do this again, sometime? You know, you hypnotize me, and then we…” I waggle my eyebrows.

“Uh… sure…” Toby replies. But maybe its my imagination, but he looks uncomfortable.

*** *** ***

I nearly oversleep the next morning and it’s a miracle that I’m not fired for being twenty minutes late to work. And – wouldn’t you know it – but there’s three major conventions in Dallas this week. We have a million out-of-towners. All of them want cabs.

“Everyone needs to do double shifts!” Mr. Weber declares. “No arguing! Its in your contract.”

Shit, you guys! Double shifts means I’ll be freakin’ living at the office for the rest of the week.

On top of that, I’m scheduled at The Silver Dollar Diner every night through Thursday. On the eight-to-midnight half-shifts. Goddamn conventions…!

*** *** ***

These conventions must be huge, because phones at Dallas Star Taxi are ringing off the hook. I’m so busy, I don’t have time to think about Toby or getting hypnotized or even writing my stories. The customers are pushy and rude. I think most of them are from New York City. I spend most of my time apologizing for our poor response times and begging them to be a little more patient.

*** *** ***

Its Friday night before I get a break. Apparently those conventions all let out at the same time. After we shuttle every last New Yorker to the airport, the phones go dead. Business as usual.

“Nicole, you can take off,” Mr. Weber tells me. “Ya worked hard this week.”

Am I being praised? Holy-

“But don’t be late Monday morning,” snaps Mr. Weber, then disappears into his office.

Ah.

*** *** ***

I limp home, delighted to realize that I have a whole evening all to myself! No diner duty! I have free time! I almost forgot what that felt like.

What to do, what to do…? I’m almost light-headed with possibilities, you guys. I could hunt down some girlfriends, go to the movies, or…

No. I know what I want to do.

I pick up the phone, then dial Toby’s cell.

The call rings for a while, but he eventually picks up. “ _Uh, hi, Nicole,_ ” he says.

“Hey there, sexy,” I say playfully. “Whatcha doin’?”

I think I hear the TV on in the background. So Toby’s just moping around at home? Perfect!

“ _Um…_ ” the hypnotist says. “ _Nothing._ ”

I hesitate. He’s using jilted, one-word answers. When guys do that, it usually means they want to be left alone. Well, I’m gonna forge ahead anyway.

“Listen,” I remark, “I was thinking… What if I come over, and you hypnotize me, and then I do whatever you want in the bedroom…” I add in a husky tone, “… ** _master?_** ”

There’s a pause.

“ _Look, Nicole…_ ” Toby says, and he sounds discouraging. Immediately, panic stabs my heart. “ _There’s no nice way to say this… I think we shouldn’t do… you know… again._ ”

…what???

“Are you serious?” I say in disbelief. “But… we were so hot together-“

“ _Its not good to mix sex and hypnosis,_ ” says Toby lamely. “ _Both poke at a person’s emotions._ _That’s in all the textbooks._ ”

“The **_textbooks?_** ” I cry. “Dude, what the fuck?” I bite my lip. “You didn’t have a good time? Are you dumping me?”

“ _You were never my girlfriend, Nicole,_ ” Toby says tartly.

“I never said I was,” I huff.

“ _Look, look, look,_ ” responds Toby, sounding chagrined. “ _I’ll admit it… I’ve always wanted to hypnotize a hot girl into my bed. It was, like, my number one fantasy since puberty._ ”

I note the past tense. A shroud of despair begins to settle over me.

“ _But I didn’t tell you something on Monday,_ ” Toby goes on. “ _Something important._ _I’m, um…_ _I’m engaged. She’s a wonderful girl. We met junior year._ ” He lamely adds, “ _She’s moving in tomorrow._ ”

THUNK.

Oh, Jesus.

Toby… **_cheated_** with me? I want to throw up.

“ _When you approached me, and I realized your fetish was real,_ ” the hypnotist rambles on, “ _I- I- I couldn’t fucking resist you, you know? I’ve never fucked a girl who was under my hypnosis. I swear,_ **I swear** _I originally thought that I’d just hypnotize you to have some orgasms. But one thing led to another, and…_ ”

He trails off.

Just like that, its like an emotional trap door opens up beneath me. I’m plunged into absolute, complete depression. I feel nothing but endless sadness.

“ _Don’t hate me, okay?_ ” Toby pleads. “ _Listen, I’m really sorry about all of this. And I meant everything I said about your writing. You have an incredible imagination. You should totally rock that._ ”

I can’t speak. Nothing in life seems to have any point.

“ _Take care, Nicole,_ ” mumbles Toby. “ _Wish you all the best._ ”

There’s a soft click, then the line goes dead.

*** *** ***

I curl up in the center of my apartment, shaking and sobbing. My emotions have crashed and flatlined.

 ** _What the fuck is wrong with me?_** I wasn’t in love with slimeball Toby, or anything. I had one great night of hypnosex, and I should be happy for that. So I haven’t lost anything… right?

But the sadness washes over me, and it is smothering. I’m **_so worthless_**. I’m such a loser! Look at me! No man wants to be my boyfriend, I have no real friends, all my “friends” probably don’t really like me anyway, even my own mother thinks I’m a hopeless basket case. If I died, right now, the only human being to give a shit would be my sleazy landlord, and that’s because I owe him money.

I just threw myself at a guy, **_literally offering to become his brainwashed slave_** , and he **_STILL_** rejected me! God! I’m, like, the rote bottom of the human dating pool. And I’m a horrible, sick, perverted dirty little **_whore_** , someone who can’t find a normal, loving sexual relationship. So I fantasize about becoming some other man’s mesmerized property. I should be shot.

I hate everything about myself. **_Everything._**

The tears flow.

As I weep, I hear a small voice in the back of my head: _Well, you don’t hate_ **everything** _… right?_

I stop crying. I sniff. I wipe my nose, then consider that question. What’s to like about me? Seriously, you guys, what?

Do I have a real social life? **_Nope_**. Boyfriend? **_Nope_**. Exciting job? **_Uh-uh_**. Cash in the bank? **_Nyet_**. A career? **_Get out_**. Cool pad? **_Noooooo_**. Cool clothes? **_Please_**. Car? **_Pfft._**

Well… I am the author of forty-nine erotic hypnosis stories online.

For some fucked-up reason, it occurs to me that no-one, literally no-one I’ve ever met, could claim that particular credential.

Maybe because I’m at the darkest rock-bottom, this tiny little fact seems like a pinprick of light.

I take a deep breath in, then out. Forty-nine stories.

I know what I have to do.

*** *** ***

Okay, I dug out the laptop, I have my Oreos. I’ve parked my butt on the CardioTrac 2600 because… there’s no-where else to sit. Doesn’t matter. I don’t have to be in bed for another three hours. This is perfect writing time. My mood may be absolute shit, but fuck it… I want to try and create.

I pull up my latest draft, reread what I already have, then thoughtfully reach for the first Oreo. Hmm.

Okay, so Chardonnay has reached the Austrian Embassy. Now…

\--- --- ---

_Careful to maintain her cover as Princess Esiugsid, Agent Chardonnay West made her way to the Grand Ballroom, where_

\--- --- ---

Grand Ballroom. Right. The Grand Ballroom. What the fuck should I say about Grand Ballroom? I have to describe it before I can have Chardonnay meet Baron Diamond, right?

I waver.

Aw, fuck, I don’t know how to fucking describe a Grand Ballroom!

A flash of anger sweeps over me. I want to hurl the laptop at the window.

 _Stop_ , the quiet voice says within me. _Eat an Oreo._

Annoyed, I grab another cookie.

 _Okay_ , says the voice. _Now close your eyes._

I do it.

 _Great_ , compliments the voice. _Now… Grand Ballroom, go!_

I think my own brain is patronizing me, you guys.

But as I chew the Oreo, I feel my rage deflate. What would be in a Grand Ballroom? A chandelier, for one.

Okay.

I open my eyes.

\--- --- ---

_Careful to maintain her cover as Princess Esiugsid, Agent Chardonnay West made her way to the Grand Ballroom, where the charity ball was already in full swing. There were about a hundred dukes and duchesses waltzing under the huge chandelier, which was pretty and sparkled. People were drinking champagne and laughing. A large ice sculpture of a swan was on the great table with all the food._

\--- --- ---

Hey, that’s not bad. The swan was a nice touch.

Suddenly, I’m writing without friction. In no time at all, Chardonnay meets the oily Baron Tryan Diamond:

\--- --- ---

_“Well, hello, my dear,” the handsome baron said._

_“Hello,” replied Chardonnay. Remember, you’re a princess she reminded herself._

_“I am Baron Tryan Diamond,” the man told her. “I am delighted to see you.”_

\--- --- ---

Two pages of flirty dialog later, and Chardonnay is waltzing with her hypnotist:

\--- --- ---

_“You didn’t know about my latest invention, the HypnoEyes contact lens!” Diamond cried._

_“No…!” said Chardonnay, trying to resist his hypnotism powers. But it was too late._

\--- --- ---

Nice. Actually, as I reread this, this is actually hotter than my role-playing with scuzzball Toby the Cheater. I like the build-up to Chardonnay’s seduction.

Okay, now for the sex scene. I indulge in another Oreo, then imagine what poor Chardonnay will have to do in bed this time. I could just write up my sex with the Cheater, but… you know, I’m feeling creative. And a little horny.

\--- --- ---

_Unable to resist her own lust, Chardonnay pushed Baron Diamond onto his back. They were both completely naked. His erect cock was straight up in the air. Moaning with sexy desires, Chardonnay lowered herself down, then plunged him into her vagina. She cried out in joy._

\--- --- ---

You know, most of the women I know claim they hate the word ‘ _vagina_.’ I don’t see why. ‘ _Pussy_ ’ is acceptable, but I kinda find it vulgar.

I digress…

\--- --- ---

_“Fuck me hard!” shouted Diamond._

_“Yes master!” shouted Chardonnay._

_She fucked him so hard that when they came, they came at the same time. He yelled in happiness. He had never had better sex._

\--- --- ---

Its always awkward writing a sex scene. I try to make it as hot and gooey as I can, with lots of descriptions of body parts. That just feels right, somehow. But if you guys are out there masturbating to this stuff, I don’t wanna know about it, okay?

Jesus, I’ve been writing for **_two hours?_** Wow. Time flies…

Okay, I’ve filled twenty pages. Time to wrap things up. Hmm. How should…

Oh!

Oh, nice, I’ve got it.

\--- --- ---

_Baron Tryan Diamond, aka the Overlord Boss, grinned to himself. Now, with Agent Chardonnay West under his control, he would infiltrate SWSO, the Secret World Spy Organization. He would hypnotize the head of the agency, and then the President of the United States! Why, it was almost too easy. In a month, he would be ruling the world._

_The bedroom door opened, and a naked Chardonnay entered. She carried a tray with a bottle and a glass on it._

_“I thought you might like some wine, master,” she said._

_From her blank expression, Diamond could tell that Chardonnay was still hypnotized. He grinned again._

_Chardonnay poured the wine, then served her master. She watched him carefully._

_“Tell me, Chardonnay,” Diamond said, licking his lips, “what is the supersecret code to enter SWSO headquarters?”_

_“291039428,” said Chardonnay._

_“Excellent,” the super villain said. “Soon you will take me there.”_

_“No, I won’t,” the spy said._

_“What?” said Baron Diamond, very mad now. “You are my hypnotized slave! You must obey me!”_

_“No, you have it wrong,” said Chardonnay. “I am free of your hypnosis. But I stole your HypnoEyes lens when you were sleeping, ‘master.’” She added that last word with sarcasm._

_“You mean-“ cried Baron Diamond, suddenly very scared._

_“Yes,” said Chardonnay, looking at him even harder now. “I am hypnotizing you. You cannot resist me.”_

_Baron Diamond tried to look away or resist her, but it was too late. “Yes, mistress,” he said in a dull voice. “I am your slave.”_

_Chardonnay smiled. She’d saved the world!_

\--- --- ---

Oooo, I love it! A twist ending! My readers love a twist ending.

Actually… you know what? This story is pretty good. It has an exotic locale… a new, powerful character… hot hypnosis… a great sex scene… a real threat to the world… twist ending… some really cool lines of dialog…

Holy shit. This could be my best work yet!

Suddenly, I can’t wait to log into my story archive. With a certain sense of pride, I click POST NEW WORK. I do the copy/paste thing, check for spelling, then take one last look to admire the view.

Then I click POST. The **_Number of Works_** statistic increments by one.

Wow.

Fifty stories, you guys! **_Fifty_** stories!

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